Hourglass
by SilverStarShine94
Summary: Hermione Granger never wanted to travel far into the past, she never meant to get stranded there indefinitely, and she never expected to want to stay there. Time was always against her. RLHG. HIATUS
1. Prologue

**Hourglass.**

_Summary: _Hermione Granger never wanted to travel far into the past, she didn't mean to get stranded there indefinitely and she never expected to want to stay there. Time was always against her. RLHG.

* * *

**Prologue.**

"Miss Granger?" rumbled an irritated sounding voice, breaking her from her reverie.

Her boss poked his balding head around her door and fixed his small, dark eyes on her face. The door could not open enough to allow his substantial bulk to move inside. There were times when she was quite thankful for that. Peering around the stacks of broken artefacts and piles of paper, Hermione Granger forced her features into a calm, blank expression.

"Yes, Mr Newberry?"

"I want you to..." he began, breaking off as he attempted to suck in and squeeze through the slim gap - his large, strangely flat face working furiously," I want you to fix this for me _before _the important meeting on Monday."

He gave up half-way and wiped his receding hairline with a sweat stained and snitch patterned handkerchief. It was a struggle to keep a look of contempt off her face; more work. This was her first job outside of Hogwarts and she had known she would be entering at a low level, she had known that they would take advantage of her in any way possible - despite her top marks... This did not make it any less of an annoyance.

Clenched in one of his pasty fists was a thin gold chain, from which dangled a half melted hourglass. A Time Turner.

"It's been terminated?" she asked, coolly, but reached out from the tiny object gingerly when he gave a curt nod.

Before objects came to her to be fixed someone would have a look at them; remove any potentially harmful magical residue that lingered around them, broke any remaining rune chains, and basically make them safe for her to handle.

"I'll have it in complete working order, first thing Monday morning," she said quietly, carefully signing her final piece of paperwork for the day.

Mr Newberry shifted from foot to foot and twisted his large handkerchief in his boulder sized fists.

"I would just like you to know that the meeting may feature you highly, Miss Granger, and doing a good job on this assignment," he gave her an oily smile, "might just work in your favour."

Against her will her spirits rose slightly - a promotion was just what she wanted. It might be a con to try and get her to work better, he was not above such things, but she could hope. There was always hope. Nodding, Hermione slid the small instrument into the little, beaded bag she had bought specially for the evening. Concealed beneath her practical, white button up shirt, soft blue jumper and loose grey wool skirt was a pretty and ridiculously expensive little dress.

Muttering a quick locking spell she bolted the door and began sliding off her work clothes to reveal the little dress beneath. Each piece of clothing was meticulously folded and placed inside the magically enlarged bag.

The dress was a deep aubergine colour with a tightly fitted, structural bodice and a layered, flowing silk skirt hemmed with black lace, which fell to mid-thigh. Slick, and flirty, the dress was a little boost of confidence that had hurt her bank balance, but was completely worth it. She slid the comfy, leather flats off her feet and tip-toed into black patent court shoes. A little pair of star shaped diamond studs and a matching necklace completed the ensemble.

When she arrived at the party she would shake her hair out of the bun in was restrained in and add a slick of eyeliner. Smiling to herself, she stood, unlocked the door and walked out towards the main atrium. A quick apparition later and she appeared in one of the litter strewn back alleys close to the Leaky Cauldron, and a minutes' walk away from the minuscule cake shop that she would be retrieving a behemoth of a dessert from for Mrs Weasley.

Normally the Weasley matriarch would have made one herself - and would have been happy to do it - but, because of the size of the party and the suddenness of it, she had been half-forced to accept a cake from an outside source. The evening was more about the companionship, anyway.

The party was mainly a celebration for Ron and Harry, who had just been accepted into Auror training. Just the thought of them helped wipe the acrid taste that speaking to Mr Newberry brought straight from her mouth.

Hermione began walking briskly forward, but her heels made her unsteady and after a few steps on the cobbles she crashed to her knees. Tears sprang up in the corners of her eyes as pin-pricks of white hot pain shot through her knees and ankle. Blood appeared on her raw palms from where she had thrown her hands out to stop herself. She hissed angrily at herself and staggered to her feet, anxiously checking her dress for marks.

At least these things always seemed to happen when she was alone.

Just at that thought her head seemed to spin wildly and for a moment the soot-stained bricks in front of her span. Motion sickness gripped her and she felt as though she had jumped from a cliff and left her organs behind. The clamouring sensations seemed to grip her entire body for a moment and she leaned her hands on her scraped knees, gasping violently. Bile rose in her throat and she leaned over the gutter, coughing up a milky coloured liquid and feeling her throat tingling with the burn.

And as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Hermione took deep, choking breaths of frigid night air and wiped the heated tears from her stinging eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. Her ankle throbbed painfully as she hobbled forward in search of her wand - feeling vulnerable and naked without it. She found it lying not far from a set of bulging black bin bags that reeked of the sweet scent of decay and cheap vodka.

A quick _"Lumos" _and she could scan the ground for her missing bag which she left without a good ten minutes later. If she stayed any longer she would be late for the celebration and would have to bear the brunt of Mrs Weasley's irritation and probably some snide comments about her own lectures on punctuality. It was clear that no one came down here - she would return and look for the bag in the light of day.

There was a tiny niggling feeling in the back of her mind that told her something was wrong which she chose to ignore. A small stomach bug, that was probably what it was. Nothing to be worried about.

It was deathly quiet in one of the many streets of Muggle London that wove away from Diagon Alley. Hermione huffed slightly - dismayed by the visible cloud of breath that swirled in plain view in front of her - and rubbed her arms. The ridiculous, purple dress that she loved chose to point out all of its impracticalities; it started too late, ended too soon, and did nothing to stop the chill wind that cut though the flimsy silk and turned the ends of her bare fingers a dull blue colour. Her heels kept her out the slush for the most part, but bits of the chill wetness that squelched beneath her feet still managed to reach her toes.

Her ankle felt swollen and painful, but it didn't hinder her too much.

Somewhere to her left a dog howled and whined - probably begging to be let inside out of the frigid night. She rubbed her arms more vigorously and glared up at the puffy, grey clouds that threatened to spill hail, or snow, on her head at any moment. Her keen eyes picked out the little shop perched at the corner of the street and she hurried towards it - dismayed by the lack of lighting.

She fumbled with her watch, which was turned to the inside of her wrist, and held it up to the orange light of one of the streetlamps. The shop shut at half past five and it had only been five past when she left the office. Surely it should still be open? The niggling feeling in the back of her mind increased. She shook her head - a small, fussy movement she often made - when she saw that her watch had stopped.

A small, discrete, tap with her wand did nothing.

Soon she was stomping as quickly as she could towards the small windows. They were quite dusty and grimy, with the paint peeling from the olive coloured window frames. The display was not the usual one of sumptuous cakes piled high with fussy little ribbons, decorative fruits made of marzipan and exotic looking flowers as big as her clenched fist. Instead, cheap looking, gaudy jewellery was stacked onto mannequins with their false eyelashes hanging off and moth-eaten velvet curtains were blocking the view into the rest of the shop.

This was the right street, definitely. Hermione glanced at the cleaner, newer looking sign with a mounting feeling of panic. As quickly as she could with her sore ankle she moved to the posters plastered on the brick wall across the street. They were overlapping and peeling slightly, but still readable. Her brown eyes quickly scanned the pictures and lines of text with an increasing feeling of desperation.

One showed a picture of someone who was undoubtedly famous, but who she didn't recognise, shaking his long, sweat soaked hair and grinning. That was unremarkable. However, in the bottom left hand corner there was a small line of text stating: "Concert one night only, 30 October 1981."

It hit her like the Knight Bus a full speed. Her head swam with thoughts, but one surfaced in a boiling fury.

The Time Turner had not been terminated.

* * *

I originally had this plus a load more as the first chapter, but I separated this part and made it into a prologue. Break you in gently - and all that. I _know_I should really be updating my HermioneSirius TT, but I got attacked by rabid plot bunnies and this happened.

As far as I'm concerned while writing this Tonks, Remus and subsequently Teddy, never happened. They never got together because breaking up a family isn't really what I feel like writing just now. Oh, and a lot of people didn't die. It's basically not entirely HBP and DH compliant. Some parts it is, and some parts it isn't.

Also, I've _promised _to write a Dramione for a friend of mine. She had a plot bunny, I volunteered. So, watch out for that as well. (Hopefully. Otherwise she might hurt me. Seriously.)

Hope you're liking it so far.

xxx.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hourglass.**

_Summary: _Hermione Granger never wanted to travel far into the past, she didn't mean to get stranded there indefinitely and she never expected to want to stay there. Time was always against her. RLHG.

* * *

**Chapter One.**

Her anger, her fury, at Mr Newberry over-rode everything and she walked through the Leaky Cauldron half in a rage. Eyes stinging with tears of raw anger, fingers twitching to hex the fat, balding pig of a man until he was sprouting feelers and hooves, or being pecked to death by a flock of twittering birds. Anger at herself welled up too. How could she have been so _idiotic?_

Excitement about the party and about seeing all the people she cared about had lead her to be stupid, careless and to make a mistake that could affect everything. Her meticulous tendencies had failed her for once.

If she had been thinking rationally she would have returned to the alley and searched for the bag the Time Turner was contained in. Hermione did not often become as angry as she was then, but when she did it clouded her mind and blocked the logical mind she was so proud of. Her feet carried her on until she was storming aimlessly down the winding Alley. Rain, and sleet, began to fall.

The smell of coffee billowing from a door when it opened made her pause and stare hungrily into the tiny shop. It was obviously warm and - her stomach gave a loud rumble - she was _ravenous_. Her last meal was a full day ago at least. Saving her appetite for one of Mrs Weasley's all-night feasts suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Pushing the door open, she slid gratefully inside and brushed a few clumps of sleet from her bushy hair.

The edge of her anger dulled somewhat.

An elderly man with a thick, grey beard that spilled in a jumbled tangle over the table he was occupying gave her a scathing look up and down. She returned his gaze steadily and wondered vaguely if she looked as cold as she was. Her numb fingers fumbled in the recesses of the tiny pocket at the front of the dress. Two gold galleons, five sickles, three knuts, a crumpled receipt and half a packet of chewing gum.

A young boy, with acne effectively laying siege to his features, raised an eyebrow when she approached the counter - sandals squelching on the lino as she moved forward.

"A bowl of lentil soup... A coffee - white, two raw sugars. Please," she forced a smile for him only to receive a glower.

Just as she was handing over the money the soft tinkling sound of a bell alerted her to another customer entering, and probably looking her over as well. She lifted the chipped plastic tray and slipped over to the only free table left - wedged in an alcove in one of the dim, grubby corners. She sat down and eyed the wide soup spoon critically in the light of one of the lanterns swinging erratically around the room. Deciding that she wouldn't catch anything from the suspicious looking stains - and almost too hungry to care - she sipped the steaming soup, mind whirring over thoughts of her situation and a solution to her problem.

It slid down her throat; hot and heavy with cream. Her stomach gave an impatient growl as she leaned over slightly and began slurping down the soup as quickly as she could without scalding her throat and looking too disgusting. She was probably failing miserably. Scooping out her change she counted it carefully with a slight crease in her brow. Next to no money, no decent clothes to ward off the atrocious weather - the best part of all - and over a decade in the past.

Great, wonderful -

"Do you mind if I sit here? There are no seats left," said a slightly husky, embarrassed sounding voice.

Hermione swallowed a large quantity of boiling soup just as she looked up and choked slightly in her haste to answer. Standing there, looking at her expectantly with an equally chipped tray clutched in his hands, was a young Remus Lupin. The easy smile, the tawny hair and eyes, the silvery scars that showed on his face and peeked out in the small strips of skin that weren't hidden by a scarf, or long overcoat...

Definitely. Him.

This was the cherry on the cake of the worst day of her life so far.

"Yes, of course," she managed to choke out.

He gave her a slightly odd, reproachful look before sitting and making quite a job of sighing and unwinding the threadbare navy scarf from his neck. She just looked at her soup and pulled back her feet so that they were tucked beneath her chair. His legs were so long that even when he folded them awkwardly as far back as he could their knees still brushed. Her awareness of him was so heightened that she could feel the tiny amount of skin exposed by a rip in his jeans.

Lupin coughed slightly behind the back of his hand and gave her another look over which made her feel horribly exposed. She noted how he wore his blond hair longer - constantly falling over his eyes - and how he hadn't shaved for a few days. The silence between them stretched with only the clattering of spoons breaking it occasionally.

"So," he said, finally, averting his eyes when she looked up.

"So?" she half-whispered back.

_Time-line. Remember the time line. Don't do anything memorable. Don't say anything memorable. Better yet; don't say anything at all._

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, after a pause.

"I've just arrived, unexpectedly. I..." she paused, fumbling, "I'm not really from around here."

"From somewhere warm?" he asked, giving her a coy, crooked smile.

"Your skills of deduction are obviously sharply honed," she muttered, with equal amounts of scorn and lightness.

He gave her a full grin then - showing white, straight teeth - and shifted slightly so that his legs rubbed, unintentionally, against hers. Hermione shifted until her back was pressed against the warped wood of the wall and cursed the fact that the alcove was so tiny she was completely boxed in. She was torn between gulping down the rest of her soup and probably causing herself some internal burns. Or, high-tailing it out of there into the cold, wet, windy night...

Or, just shrinking back, being as uninteresting as possible and hoping that Lupin would leave _quickly. _Hermione found herself liking this option quite a bit - it prolonged the time before her imminent death from pneumonia. For several, uneventful minutes her hands were occupied with the tasks of pulling up the bodice of the dress and pulling down the hem as surreptitiously as possible while trying to eat the soup as slowly and painstakingly as she could manage.

He also seemed to be eating irritatingly slow and began shooting her glances at a worrying rate. Hermione could barely resist the temptation to give him the once over herself. His clothes were as well worn as ever, but they were all made of strong, hard-wearing material. No grey peppered his hair and laugh lines were non-existent, but that was to be expected. There was something more of a spark in his eyes - something happier and more mischievous, perhaps.

His hands were the same - she liked his hands. They were large and strong looking, but he was always careful with his movements and it looked as though deep thought and consideration went into his every one. He still drummed his fingers against the table when he was thinking over things, but his expressions were much less guarded. Before she never would have been able to guess at what he was thinking.

It looked like he wanted to say something. She made a show of removing an (imaginary) hair from her soup.

"Did you go to Hogwarts?" he asked, face half hidden by a curtain of hair.

"It's just that you look about my age," he paused, uncertain, and squinted at her in a way that made her deeply uncomfortable, "and I don't remember you."

"I didn't go. So you wouldn't recognise me, " Hermione answered, finally.

She continued to sip at her soup without offering a further explanation until he sighed and began to glance around the room. Irritation caused a furrow in her brow as she looked at him; hoping he would leave her be, trying to imprint the desire to leave in his mind. It seemed she was staring so hard that a hole would soon be burned through him.

He muttered something that she didn't quite catch so that she was forced to ask him to repeat himself. Lupin asked for her name. Gasping audibly as she did then probably would have been fatal if she hadn't had her cup to her lips and made it look as though she had swallowed too much hot liquid at once. Her mind flickered over Muggle names quickly until she settled on an ordinary, and not completely untrue one.

"Jean." Her middle name.

"I'm Remus," he said, with a hint of a smile.

"And where are you staying?" he asked, seemingly not willing to give up without wrestling some kind of substantial information from her.

A thirst for knowledge that she remembered well, that she had always admired... Her lips pressed into a thin line and he faltered slightly, giving her a little grin that made her anger at him dissolve slightly. Now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. Now was _really _not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, looking down at the dregs of her coffee.

Deciding that she had done enough damage for one day she abruptly slid out of the chair and forced herself out of the alcove. Ignoring the way her entire body tensed up as she pushed against him she made for the door. Her ankle really was aching now, she noted regretfully. Sitting down had eased the pain somewhat, but now it simply throbbed harder with each step. Hermione had already decided to look for her bag. This was the only productive things she could do that would bring her a step closer to going home.

Creature comforts would simply have to wait.

At her abrupt departure Lupin had tried to grasp hold of her arm and had called after her. She hoped he would just brush her off and ignore the whole incident. There was no energy left in her to deal with such an intricate situation. The warmth the shop interior and the soup had begun to form was decimated as soon as she stepped outside.

Hunching her shoulders, she committed herself to a long, cold night. Her thoughts only on finding the bag, what happened afterwards would be dealt with as it came. One at a time, in order of priority - that was how she dealt with difficult tasks in difficult situations. Her thoughts turned to Harry and Ron; she wondered if they had realised she was missing yet...

~oOo~

"_What are you doing?!" _hissed a voice halfway between shock and amusement, from somewhere behind her.

Hermione froze, staring resolutely at the filthy pile of rubbish she was standing in and feeling the unidentified sludge seep between her toes. The last person she wanted to see her standing ankle deep in potato peelings, in the middle of a hailstorm, when she had no business being in that time, was standing right behind her. She shot up suddenly and stood rigid. Anxiously smoothing down the back of her dress she hoped he hadn't gotten the eyeful she was sure he had.

The sound of soft footsteps told her that he was approaching. Hermione glanced up at the sky, wished feverishly that she could just merge with the ground, and exhaled deeply. He had followed and she hadn't heard him. That was slightly worrying.

"Listen, love, if you need some help... You just have to say, you know," he said, reaching out for her gingerly as she turned around, as though he expected her to slap his hand away.

That made her a little irritated, and more than a little sad. She supposed he was always careful around strangers - always ready for ignorance and rejection because of the social stigma attached to lycanthropy. His hand felt very, very warm against her cold, wet skin - so warm and dry that it stung painfully as her skin adjusted to the temperature. She brushed some of the hair that had escaped her bun carefully from her face and didn't respond to the light touch of the hand on her arm.

Help was something she really, sincerely wanted and needed. But disrupting the Time Line was something she wished to avoid at all costs.

"I dropped my bag somewhere near here, and I really need to find it," she said, not meeting his eyes, "but I'm fine."

"I don't need any help," Hermione stated irritably as he remained silent and began to smile slightly, straightening her shoulders a little she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Playing the damsel in distress was something she did not do. Spending any time longer with him might leave an imprint anyway. Regardless of her curiosity she would just have to brush him off. He looked so endearing as he tilted his head with a crooked smile on his face. The downpour had already plastered his hair to his face so that it obscured part of his features, but she saw a slight expression of amusement.

That really irritated her. Hermione took a step back but he took a step forward, the smile on his face broadening. It only took her a moment to whip out her wand and point it to the soft skin of his throat. Her temper was short and her stance an angry one. Instead of backing off he seemed to move closer until he towered over her and blocked part of the hail that was still slamming off their forms and the ground beneath.

"You're lying," Lupin said, in a deeper rumbling voice as though he was about to break into laughter.

"I really don't need any help!" she snapped, frustrated and only half willing to curse someone she would grow to respect so much.

Without dropping the hand that was now clamped around her arm he reached up and unwrapped his scarf slowly before sliding the thick, slightly damp wool around her own neck. It was then she realised just how much she was shaking and how cold she must have looked. She pushed the wand further into his throat in a way that must have been uncomfortable for him, but he didn't even flinch.

"These are dangerous times you know, I'm not going to leave you wandering out here alone. I don't know where you've come from, but it's not safe around here anymore."

The playful light in his eyes faded and he suddenly looked very serious. This was the last thing she needed - for his stupid, stubborn chivalry to come into play. The hail became rain again and was falling so thickly that she could barely see past him. The last thing she needed was for that tiny bag to be washed down a drain, literally taking her future with it.

"This is the Muggle part of town, you must have realised that you had left Diagon Alley when you were following me," she forced out through clenched teeth.

"What if I was headed in this direction too?" he chuckled, not seeming to realise just how close she was to using an Unforgivable.

"Because this alleyway is such a desirable destination," Hermione spat.

"At least let me walk you to wherever you are staying," he winced as she dug the wand further into his windpipe.

"No," she said, flatly.

Something in his expression said that he had just realised a detail that he had missed. Hermione dropped her wand from his throat and stared at him with a sour expression painted on her features. She didn't ever remember Lupin riling her up this much.

"You said which you didn't know where you were staying... But you really meant that you had nowhere to stay." There was a questioning glint in his eyes and in the dim light they almost seemed to glow.

She shifted uncomfortably and made to brush his hand off again. This time he actually let go, but only to unbutton his coat and shrug it off. Before she could even slip past him, he unwrapped it from around himself and swung it around her shoulders so that her arms were pinned uselessly to her sides. From beneath a curtain of soaked, bushy she stared at him as though she had never seen him before.

As though sensing her surrender he gave a lazy smile.

"I thought chivalry was dead," she grumbled, feeling a blush beginning to heat her cheeks.

~oOo~

Lupin lead her down a series of streets that wound confusingly around each other as though they were headed in circles until Hermione was completely and utterly lost. The falter in her step became more pronounced, but when she saw him glancing pointedly from her foot to her face she gave him a murderous glare and he said nothing. She was furious with herself for having accepted his offer.

Stay just one night, he had said. I won't leave you alone until I know you're safe, he had said. Then she had thrown his coat in his face and told him that it wasn't his business what she was doing, and how could she trust someone she had just met anyway? And he had followed her as she stormed down the street and talked aimlessly over the roar of the wind and rain until she stopped walking and just looked at him.

At that point she was so tired and frustrated that she half shouted yes in his face. Furious at herself for doing so.

"It's still quite a walk. Would you permit me to apparate you there?" he asked, slightly breathlessly, watching as she considered.

Hermione was slightly caught off guard by his manners. Ron would have just grabbed her, announced his intention and proceeded to do it regardless of what she said. Lupin looked uncomfortable and she could probably guess why. They had just met, they didn't even know each other's names, so generally he would never suggest apparating with her to his home. It would be considered very forward and quite suggestive to do so. But she would be staying with him - and she knew that, even if he hadn't stated explicitly.

Instead of answering she looped her arm through his and looked at him expectantly. He seemed to understand and a second later the air felt considereably warmer, and she welcomed the lack of frigid wind and rain.

Against her will she was curious to see what his place looked like. It was very small, as she had expected, and covered in books. They held up the glass plate that served as a coffee table, exploded out of the massive, dark wood shelves that dominated one of the walls, and even occupied two of the four squashy blue armchairs that were crammed in front of a plain black fireplace.

The walls were completely unadorned - the cream paint serving as the only covering for the plasterboard underneath. Hermione would have been lying if she had said she had not wanted to see a few pictures. It seemed that he would always be a very private person no matter what time in his life it was. A wave of gratitude for him caught her completely unaware.

Here she was; a complete stranger (in his eyes) who hadn't exactly been the nicest to him, and he was still bringing her into his home. Hermione realised that she had been silent for a few moments and that Lupin was staring. She smiled at him genuinely for the first time and wished that she wasn't dripping all over the blue, woven rug that covered the polished floorboards.

Privately, he thought she looked tiny and very fragile when her mass of brown curls was dampened down to sodden strands.

"Tea?" He licked his suddenly dry lips and watched her appraisal of the small space carefully.

Her shoulders dropped before she murmured an affirmative and slid over to the chair he had offered her. With an almost lazy flick of his wand he ignited the fire place and was about to conjure a pair of towels before she beat him to it. Her towels were plain and white, but very soft and expensive feeling against the skin. Vaguely, he wondered what it said about him that his were rough, cotton and extremely durable.

Her hair stuck up wildly when she finally resurfaced from beneath the towel and she tried to pat it down to no avail. Remus moved next door into the kitchen before she could look up and see him watching her.

Hermione was quite glad when he moved into the adjoining kitchen to make the tea. She carefully removed her shoes and dropped them to the floor with a half-moan of relief. She dug her toes into the rug as the blood flowed back to her cold, abused feet. It irritated her that she had accepted his offer. They had bickered about it half the way here... Or, rather, she had bickered and he had answered her calmly.

Even now he kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Hermione carefully rubbed her toes and prodded her rapidly swelling ankle. It was probably a good thing that Lupin had suggested apparation; it didn't feel like she could walk much further. Pointing her wand at herself she slowly began to dry the wet silk that clung to her like a second skin. It was as thin as tissue and dried very quickly - to her infinite relief. Feeling warm, dry and much more comfortable made it easier to think.

Lupin appeared at her shoulder silently and caused her to jump when she looked back and saw him holding a pair of cups. He sat hers on the mantlepiece, just within reach, and moved his newly dried, neatly folded coat and scarf so that he could sit in the seat beside her. He slouched slightly and groped about for his dog-eared copy of _Dealing with the Dark Arts_ to thumb through while he waited for her to talk.

Unlike the rest of the Marauders he was patient. Forcing questions on her didn't seem to work well with her temperament, and given time she would probably volunteer information herself. Or, he hoped she would.

She sat daintily: with her legs folded neatly in front of her and her tea cup cradled carefully in her hands. He knew she was hungry, it was hard not to hear the deep, metallic sounding rumblings of her stomach, but she only picked at the brownies that Lily had sent round several days before. He thought she looked expensive, delicate and wholly out of place sitting on his dishevelled chair with a tartan blanket twice the size of her wrapped around her previously uncovered shoulders.

It was hard not to notice the way she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes- as though to memorise every hair, every freckle and pick him apart at the seams. He kept his shirt buttoned all the way to the top and shook down his sleeves a little to cover the hands that clenched around his book.

His scars were something he didn't want her to see. Normally he didn't give a toss about his scars, after so many years he was used to the staring. But, deep down he really wanted this strange girl to like him and felt that those would cloud her opinion.

As the comfortable silence stretched on he looked up at the metal rimmed clock perched on the mantelpiece.

It was now five past six and if someone was going to visit they would do it soon. He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to meet Sirius or not. It seemed very likely that Jean would end up hexing him to pieces. He knew that he was treading on thin ice when he pushed her, but found some amusement in her anger. Sirius would undoubtedly wind her up, as would James. James had been so busy with a heavily pregnant Lily lately that he doubted his bespeckled friend would drop in.

Peter was never one to visit, so he didn't worry about that at least.

Lupin lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it in a gesture so habitual he didn't even notice what he was doing. Hermione watched him carefully as he seemed to debate with himself over what to say to begin a conversation again. Though it was very early in the evening she was already tired after a long days' work and an emotionally draining hour. She remembered that frequent Time Turner used to sometimes leave her drowsy and such a large jump seemed to be taking its toll now.

Talking to anyone she knew was something that she had wanted to avoid at all costs, but now that Lupin had effectively blown that out of the water it seemed reasonable to pay Dumbledore a visit. Her bag - and subsequently the Time Turner - was not in that alley. Of that she was sure. It was a very small area and she had searched for around fifteen minutes without anything turning up.

Even the _Accio_ spell had failed her when she became desperate - just before Lupin arrived.

By talking to Dumbledore she would hopefully cut out many days of research that she could not really afford to have. With no money, friends or accommodations her options were limited. The fact that she had to make as little an impression on everyone around her as she could was another factor that made things difficult.

And then there was Remus Lupin himself.

Now that she had so stupidly let him know part of her dire situation she doubted that he would leave her alone until he was certain she would be alright. While that quality was endearing at times, now it was just plain irritating.

"Listen... Remus," he pretended to glance up, trying to keep his expression neutral, "I should probably go. I want to see Dumbledore."

"You know Dumbledore?" he blurted out.

She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't everyone?"

He smiled bashfully and looked away. His longer, tousled hair irritated her slightly - he always seemed to use it to hide his face. Her fingers itched to brush it away and smooth it down. She was so used to doing that to Harry that she found herself beginning to reach out to him. She jerked back her fingers as though she had been burned. The thought of Harry was like acid in her soul.

The urge to get back and see them was almost overwhelming. They were probably searching for her now. The party would have been cancelled. Her foolishness had spoiled what would have been a lovely evening.

"But, you're staying tonight?" he asked, breaking her from her reverie.

"It's not that late," muttered Hermione, sensing the reluctance in her own voice.

"I'd sleep easier if I knew you were alright."

"I should really make more permanent arrangements but... I mean... If I wouldn't be an inconvenience..." she stumbled uncharacteristically as she spoke to him, furious with herself for doing so.

"You wouldn't be."

Lupin gave her a wide grin and stood awkwardly.

"I'll start dinner then?"

She nodded, feeling tired and drained.

"I'll help, just give me a minute."

The moment she knew she was gone she put her head in her hands and forced down the small, weak part of her that wanted to cry.

* * *

Okay, first chapter. I'm not entirely sure how long this thing is going to end up, but we'll see. I'm quite excited about working the rest of the Marauders into the story, and about when she returns to her own time. As she must.

Drama, is all I can say.

Thanks for reading!

xxx

(Edited - 19 July 2009)


	3. Chapter 2

**Hourglass.**

_Summary: _Hermione Granger never wanted to travel far into the past, she didn't mean to get stranded there indefinitely and she never expected to want to stay there. Time was always against her. RLHG.

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

Dinner was a quiet affair. Lupin didn't keep much in his cupboards and fridge - as she had expected - but seemed to be able to do a lot with what looked like a little. Hermione never knew that he could cook well. Molly Weasley always served up the food whenever they had eaten in the same company. She supposed she had imagined him like Ron, Harry and - admittedly -herself: only able to heat up sauces and cook simple things like vegetables, which only required being boiled.

It stuck her as odd that she was accomplished at potions and yet burned almost every meal she tried to make. Whereas Lupin, who seemed about level with Neville Longbottom in potions ability according to what he had told them, made a lasagne from scratch without breaking into a sweat. He even said it was a "relatively simple dish". She just chopped up the vegetables like he asked.

She was quite glad when he began to comment on the pouring rain; anything to distract her from the pain in her ankle was welcome. The other injuries she had sustained could hardly even be called scratches, but it felt as though her abused ankle was beginning to swell up.

"Do you have anything else with you? Any change of clothes?" he said, as the lukewarm conversation about the weather petered out.

She saw him glance at her attire out of the corner of his eye and took the hint. If he were more like Sirius then she didn't doubt that the comment would be far more lecherous. This was probably the most _brief_ dress she had ever worn in her entire life, but she had picked it for a reason. It made her feel good, for one, and she had hoped that it would make a certain someone feel some regret.

It was quite childish, and spiteful, but at least she had stopped herself from tracking down Cormac McLaggen again and bringing him to the party with her.

"No, I don't have anything. Remember, I told you that I had lost my bag?"

He nodded and stepped around her to open the oven and slide the tray containing the lasagne inside. His kitchen barely had room for the two of them to stand side by side. Only around two square metres of the black and white tiled floor remained uncovered by the dated looking appliances. Lupin leaned over her to sweep the chopped potatoes into a battered pan and set it onto the hob.

Hermione noticed that he seemed to tense up and move away every time he came close to touching her. She wondered if he felt uncomfortable around her, or was trying to avoid making her uncomfortable. Hazarding a guess she might have said it was both.

"I can always transfigure this into something more practical," she said, looking sadly down at the flimsy skirt.

In all honesty she may as well have just wrapped a large silk scarf around herself.

"If you don't mind, I can lend you something to sleep in."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

His manners always seemed to catch her off guard. She wasn't entirely sure how to respond properly to a man who wasn't as straightforward, tactless and as brutally honest as she was used to. The small gestures he was continually making towards her - a perfect stranger - were getting under her skin more than she would have liked to admit. The silence dragged a little as they stood stiff-backed beside each other to avoid touching.

She found herself wanting to bring up books; the few conversations she had with him over the years were always very stimulating. Carefully racking her brains she pondered several volumes that she knew for definite were published at this time. Something like _Defeating the Darkness _or _Vanquish _would probably be the most interesting to him given the subject he would go on to teach.

Lupin swallowed noticeably when she turned around to face him with the intention of starting a conversation. He hid his expression beneath his hair again and moved quickly past her into the living-room. Hermione stood still, looking after him quizzically. She was in two minds whether to follow him or not. Though he was very tall and long limbed she noted, enviously, that he moved much more fluidly and quickly than she would ever manage.

Not like Ron; who was all gangly limbs and flailing off the Quidittch pitch.

_Don't think about him. _She reminded herself, fiercely.

Lupin re-appeared as she was attempting to rid her mind of the anger that accompanied thoughts of a certain red-head. Her earlier stupidity now brought guilt and irritation with that. Would he be upset? If the party had been cancelled would he be going to _her _house? Lifting his hands he held out a long, thick grey jumper for her. She smiled at him and gritted her teeth slightly as she pulled the jumper over her head.

Just three weeks ago Ron and herself had finally severed the ties that bound them together as anything other than friends. According to Ginny she had been _that_ close to having a ring thrust in her face, and probably forced onto her finger in a combination of residual feelings and obligation. Even know she wasn't sure if her decision to end things was the right one. She _loved _Ron.

Honestly, truthfully and in a manner that would probably never leave her completely.

They fought a lot - as they always had - but the fights became fiercer. The moments they were together became a different kind of intense as well. She became frustrated with him when he didn't seem to want to spend any time with her outside of the bedroom. He became frustrated with her when she didn't openly shower him with attention as much as he would have liked.

Eventually they moved in together and their conflicting habits caused more arguments. The smallest thing set off a raging argument. It was emotionally draining to wake up in the morning and roll out of bed only to argue about the clothes left in the floor, and the length of time each person was in the bathroom, and a million other things. Hermione could have sworn they were on the brink of dueling around five times before breakfast in the worst part.

In the end it was her that suggested a break. Before the week had even ended he was gallivanting around with Lavender Brown on his arm as though a fling had just ended and not a serious relationship, effectively turning what she had thought was a break into an actual ending.

"Not quite as big as I thought," he murmured, pulling her away from her murderous thoughts.

The jumper fell past her knees - completely covering her from just below her neck to the tops of her calves. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Lupin seemed much more relieved as soon as she put it on. As though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Are you kidding?" Hermione asked, feigning exasperation. "It's enormous."

"You are rather small, though," he said, lips twitching in a way that suggested he was trying to supress a smile.

"And you're positively gargantuan," she retorted.

He smiled at her in almost fond manner, displaying his slightly-more-pointed-than-would-be-considered-normal canine teeth. Dinner was almost done now, and for that she was quite glad. The noises her stomach was emitting were quite embarrassing to say the least, and standing was now really hurting her. She didn't want to mention it to Lupin, he would probably make a fuss.

Though she was relatively sure that he had noticed before.

He cleared his throat, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something before thinking better of it and asking her to get out a pair of plates from the cupboard beside her. The soft clanking of cutlery and chink of plates filled the slightly awkward silence. His entire face and neck were flushed - the slightly tanned skin now the raw vermilion not unlike that of a person caught under the harsh rays of mid-day sun several hours to long.

Her curiosity snapped back with full force as she thought about what could have made him blush so deeply. Lupin carefully dished the meals onto a set of mismatching plates without touching her, or meeting her gaze.

"I don't normally have many visitors. So we either eat on the coffee table on our knees, or in the armchairs with the plates in our laps," he said, quietly.

"So, basically we eat like savages?" Hermione teased, smiling.

Surely that could not be the reason for his discomfort? Her jibe seemed to lighten the heavy atmosphere. He smiled slightly and answered in a marginally warmer tone.

"Precisely."

oOo

Leaping up the stairs two at a time a fierce grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Seeing one of his closest friends always brought this sort of reaction - he was so excited blasting down the door didn't seem to bad an idea when it would get him in faster. Pausing at the top he smoothed down his cloak and shook the moisture from his hair in the manner that dogs use to remove unwanted water from their fur.

He had taken on that habit on purpose soon after becoming an animagus. James got no end of amusement from seeing him do it.

With the grin still firmly in place he lifted a hand with the intention of battering the door until he received an answer. Mid-movement he paused and listened. A tinkling laugh cut through the wooden door like a knife. A _woman's_laugh. If there was one thing that Sirius Black knew it was the sound of a woman enjoying herself. And this one undoubtably was. Ignoring any thoughts about his friend's privacy that threatened to creep in he pressed his ear to the door.

Another laugh - deeper, Remus's. There was a pause in the conversation - and then something that sounded suspicously like his name.

The door flew open unexpectedly, almost causing him to sprawl onto the floor in a highly undignified manner. Remus looked at him over the back of an armchair with a mingled expression of irritation and amusement. Catching his balance he leaned casually on the frame of the door as though he had not just been discovered eavesdropping on the other side of it - hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery woman. He could count the number of women Remus had entertained at his flat on one hand.

He could be so introverted sometimes.

"Hear anything interesting, Padfoot?"

"You were too quick catching me, Moony. 'Spose that comes with - " A warning look, he pretended to have been distracted by the small head that had popped up over the top of the other armchair.

A pair of large brown eyes widened slightly when she caught sight of him and her cheeks reddened slightly before she disappeared back behind the chair. It was hard not to smirk at her reaction - his reputation preceded him sometimes. Sirius pushed himself off of the frame and sauntered forward - curious to no end to see this girl despite the looks he was getting from Remus.

"And who is this?"

Tiny little slip of a girl; brown, bushy hair, brown eyes and half swamped by a large jumper. One of Remus's... If it hadn't been for his exceptional sense of smell (another benefit of being an animagus) he might have thought they were better _acquainted _than the cautious distance between them suggested.

"Jean."

She extended a small, shaking hand. Remus was watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes.

"Don't be scared, love. I don't bite," he smiled and engulfed her tiny hand in his own.

It didn't seem that she liked what he said overly much - her grip was very strong and he _almost _winced. Doing so would have left him with only tatters of pride. Perhaps she wasn't quite as gentle and impressionable as she had appeared a first glance.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you," she said, meeting his gaze with an almost steely glint in her eyes.

Sirius let out a harsh bark of laughter and raised an eyebrow at his friend who replied with a bemused look. Slumped into the chair beside him the smell of something delicious, and vaguely spicy, made itself known prompting him to ask whether anything was left to eat. He had been planning to drag his friend out for the usual take-out and pub crawl - something they had not done in a while now - but the appearance of this Jean girl blew that plan out of the water.

Remus nodded, seemingly glad to have the girl's full attention again, and indicated towards the kitchen. As he walked over he watched them talking quietly out of the corner of his eye. She leaned closer to talk to him and put one small hand on his arm. If she leaned over any further she may as well have crammed herself into that chair with him. Remus was still smiling widely and placed his hand over hers.

There was a pause when she looked down at the hand covering her own with a bewildered expression, a blush staining her features. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched them. Taking some of the delicious looking food Remus had wrapped up and going to visit Peter seemed like a good idea right now. Though the thought of their being only two of them made his spirits fall slightly it was worth it if... He smiled wickedly in the direction of his lyancopthic friend as he glanced up at him.

Knocking the door of the cupboard shut with his hip, he walked back into the room with tupperware cradled in his arms.

"Gonna head off now Moony. Wormtail and I are going to hit the pub."

Remus stood and crossed the room in two strides his brow furrowed.

"You're leaving? So soon?" The note of disappointment in his friend's voice stung him a little.

"You know me; eat and run. Can't cook to save myself." He raised and eyebrow and gave a pointed look in the direction of Jean, to which Remus gave a short nod.

"I'll see you around, Gorgeous," he added, amused by the unladylike snort of derision the endearment prompted.

oOo

The room was silent for a few moments after Sirius vacated the flat. Listening intently Remus heard the sound of each footfall as his friend descended the stairs. Had this been the full moon his ears would have drooped slightly. As things became more and more dangerous their meetings together became less friendly and carefree and more tense. There was always an underlying note of unease. People were being murdered in their beds and disappearing from crowded streets every day.

Looking back at Jean, curled in the old armchair with one foot tucked beneath her, he couldn't believe anyone would have let her wander about by herself. The roaming of his eyes finished at the foot dangling down to just touch the floor with her small, nail-varnished toes. Her ankle was swollen. Slowly, as though approaching a timid animal, he reached out and ran a finger across the area where the skin was stretched tightest across the bone.

She shuddered in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable in more than one way.

"I'm fine."

"Just let me, please. You'll be much less sore tomorrow." The words were rushed and almost jumbled. The confidence boost Sirius had brought disappeared the moment he left the flat.

A soft sigh - she turned her chair a little so that they were facing each other. Cupping her foot in one hand he gingerly lifted her leg until her heel rested on his thighs. A flush crept its way across her cheeks and she looked away from him with a frustrated expression. It seemed almost absurd how small she was; her tiny foot was almost completely engulfed by his two hands as he began working his thumbs across the abused flesh.

A pained expression flitted across her face before he looked down at his hands - feeling that watching her expressions was uncomfortably intimate. Part of him wondered how long it would take before his over-familiarity frightened her away. He couldn't seem to help himself. She was facinating, compelling and intelligent. Sirius had given him a look he had almost forgotten just before he left.

_Don't mess this up._

In the back of his mind a small insistent voice muttered that he could have used magic for this. Her skin was soft and warmed beneath his fingers. The tension was almost smothering. For a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. She smelled of coffee, damp silk and the overpowering saccharine scent of synthetic strawberry shampoo. On anyone else the mix wouldn't have been appealing.

"Your friend," Jean said, a tremour in her voice,"who was he?"

Her voice held a note of someone trying to regain control of the situation. Remus didn't even notice the fact the his fingers had begun working into the arch of her foot and around her heel. He did hear the quickening flutter of her heart and the slight harshness of her breath.

"Sirius Black. I'm sure you've heard of him," he said, watching her face intently.

A flash of recognition.

"Heard of the family," murmured Jean, almost to herself.

Her fingers dug into the arm of the chair.

"He's not like them. You would like him a lot if you get to know him." The pained look on her face spurned him on for reasons he couldn't indentify.

"I don't think I'll be getting to know him, Remus," she said softly.

He wasn't sure why her quiet admission stung him quite so much.

"Of course... You're going home...?" It wasn't meant to be a question.

"I have to."

Silence stretched again - more tense than the last time. His fingers began to move up her calf slowly, without conscious thought. They began to talk about books again, with less passion and conviction than the last time. She refused to meet his gaze and her flesh shuddered slightly beneath his probing fingers. For a moment he is afraid that pressing to hard might cause her to shatter. The women he had touched in the past were never interested in this kind of contact.

They were always older, worldly, good looking in a fleshy sort of way; tall, strong and demanding. Someone like Jean never stumbled into his path. When his fingers brushed her knees she started. Remus was suddenly aware of how far his hands had crept up her skin; if he leaned forward slightly he would touch the soft skin of her inner thighs where the jumper, his jumper, had ridden up.

"Thank you." The statement held warning instead of warmth.

"It was my pleasure," he smiled, hiding the wince at his poor choice of words.

It was a miracle that she hadn't already bolted.

"I should like to sleep now."

He nodded, glad of the distraction. Together they pushed the armchair completely together and transfigured them into a small single bed in front of the fire. It only took him a moment to slip into the other room and gather up some spare sheets, a pillow, an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Jean was careful not to touch him when she lifted the things from his arms. He turned away and busied himself with the bookshelf when she bent over to arrange the sheets.

The sounds of her in the bathroom; rustling cloth sliding across skin, bare feet against tiles and even running water were agonising. Remus shook his head and blamed it all on the impending transformation.

"Thank you for having me here, I really appreciate it." He smiled at her, forcing himself not to read too much into her words.

The sounds of someone else in the flat made it difficult to sleep. That thought was slightly disturbing; he really did spend too much time alone. Some time in the night muted sniffles and the smell of salt reached him.

Instinctively he knew she was better off alone.

* * *

Okay, been having some_ majorly _sucky writers' block lately. I decided to just bang this chapter up because in my stinted brain it is not going anywhere quickly. I thought you guys would prefer to read a shorter chapter than no chapter at all. Am also working hard on Fragments of Fate. Life is a pain because I'm going back to school next week and it will be face to the grind-stone from then on.

Love you guys.

Thanks for reading,

xxx

Edit: You may notice "Lyancopthic" in this fic, which isn't exactly a word. Type it into Google and a link comes up for this fic, and nothing else. I'm keeping my dreadful miss-spell for a laugh... And because HarlequinRaven told me to.


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